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a new start: love letter to my body

So here it goes. I’m starting a blog that I’m not sure I’ll keep up in order to write a love letter to my body. A challenge that has been….well, challenging. I’ve thought about it and put it off for a number of days, but I think I’m ready. I’m ready to be honest with my body and share my thoughts, regrets and deepest feelings that I often keep hidden. To some, a love letter to your body may not seem like a big deal or a tough task, but my body and I have been on an intense journey together, and its been a while since we’ve had a gentle talk.

Dear Body,

it’s been awhile since we’ve talked….

So many times I have called you names. Cursed you. Hated you.

I told you that you were worthless and had so much to change, that perfection was your only option. I pushed you so hard that you released ever flowing tears and collapsed with this overwhelming and unattainable task. You were never meant to be perfect, whatever that word even means. I’ve kept you from eating, sleeping and resting in order to mold you into a form that you were never intended to take….but then you formed another life inside of you. I wept when I thought of how you surprised me with one of your greatest achievements that I couldn’t yet see. I cursed you again. I told you that you were only allowed to stretch so much, get so big and look so full of life, but you didn’t listen. You grew, and continue to grow, at the the pace that my baby needs. Sometimes I still hate you for it, and tell you that you should look more like the other bodies who didn’t get as heavy or uncomfortable as you are now. I cried when my midwife told me that you knew best. I couldn’t believe I had to trust you to carry me through the growth and laboring over another human life. for so long I thought I had to control you. I’m sorry I haven’t been gentle enough. understanding enough. loving enough. and thankful enough.

Countless nights I have forced you to stay awake so I could spend time with the man who loves you far more than I do, and to study and write papers furiously in the library before the sun came up.Your eyes have seen so much, they’ve read so much, they’ve stayed alert when all they wanted was rest. And yet you still allow me to open them and greet each day. When i see your hips I try to minimize them, but you have made them stand out like they do so I can walk, carry a baby in my womb and a toddler on my side. And your ears, oh how I’ve hated those ears of yours. But you allow me to listen and learn, to embrace the sounds around me.You do these things without me knowing them, and for that I am thankful.

Remember that day when you carried in ten bags of groceries at the same time, with only your two arms that I often call flabby and weak? Or when you ran miles and miles in the heat on that little island we visited where you only wanted to relax, but I pushed you to your breaking point, and you didnt give up on me? How about all of the times that your embrace has comforted babies, strangers and friends? Or how your hands have sacrificed and served in countries faraway and to neighbors close by? You have done these things for me, and I am thankful.

I know we aren’t there yet, but in a couple weeks I’ll need to be reminded again that I can trust you. That you are strong and able. And together, dear body of mine, we will deliver a baby into the world. I may need to be reminded that you will take time, maybe lots of time, to heal. Please be patient if I don;t understand right away, I’m still learning how to love you. But until then, lets go rest. Yes, I’m going to be gentle enough to let you rest. To rest your back from carrying a little life, a life that I can trust you with.